


Only You

by doctor__idiot



Series: 12 Days of Wincestmas 2017 [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-02-27 09:59:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13245834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctor__idiot/pseuds/doctor__idiot
Summary: Dean comes back in the middle of the night, smelling like perfume and booze he’s too young for. Sam hates it.





	Only You

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt: "I've never said that to anyone before."

Dean comes back in the middle of the night, smelling like perfume and booze he’s too young for. Sam hates it.

He’s been lying awake since his brother ventured out to the nearest bar, like he does on so many nights their father isn’t there, and, as always, he is making enough noise to wake the dead.

“S’ry, S’mmy,” he mutters as he faceplants into his bed, eighteen-year-old body too lithe to hold all that liquor adequately and Sam rolls his eyes. Turns around.

“Whatever.”

He’s in his underwear and he is freezing because the gust of mid-winter air came blowing in together with a considerable amount of snow when Dean blundered through the door. It is already seeping into the rug, Dean’s boots having left wet prints all over the floor.

He expects Dean to fall asleep right away, steels himself for the sounds of snoring that are particularly loud after he has been drinking, but there is only silence. As much as Sam hates his brother’s nightly escapades, he still gets worried that Dean might be suffocating with his face turned into the pillows like that.

“Dean?” he tries and earns a quiet murmur.

Gritting his teeth, Sam steels himself against the cold and swings his feet out of bed. He winces when his bare toes make contact with the cold floor. Shuffling over to his brother’s narrow twin, he kneels on the mattress, shaking Dean by the shoulder.

“Hey, you wanna get ready for bed?”

Another snuffle. Sam sighs and kneels by Dean’s feet, untying his boots. Then he pushes and shoves none-too-gently until he’s got Dean on his back.

“You gonna be okay?” he asks, exasperation clearly audible in his voice.

Dean hums. “Sh’ told me sh’l’ved me,” he mumbles. Sam has to concentrate to understand him.

His stomach sinks. “Who?” He wouldn’t have thought they’ve spent long enough in town for his brother to form an attachment, especially since Dean has never been the kind to form attachments in the first place. He is usually the one who pushes to move on, repeats to Sam time and time again that there is no use in trying to have a social life.

“Sh’just said it. Like’s nothin’.” Dean rubs his cheek against the pillow, messing up his hair even more. He looks half-asleep already and up close, he smells like a bar. “’ve n’ver said that t’anyone b’fore.”

Sam isn’t following and he is cursing himself inwardly for even trying. With Dean smashed six ways to Sunday, there is really no point.

“What?” he urges while he tugs the blanket out from Dean’s leaden body. It takes some effort but he manages, draping it across his nonsensical brother.

“N’ver gonna find s’meone,” Dean mutters and Sam freezes because hell no, this isn’t happening. He isn’t going to play shrink for his drunk brother in the middle of the night. They’re both sleep-deprived and Dean isn’t going to remember a thing in the morning anyway.

So Sam just says, “Sure you are. Scoot over,” and prods until Dean rolls onto his side with a moan. Sam hurries to slip under the blanket next to Dean’s body, his toes nearly frozen numb.

He presses them against Dean’s shin under the hem of his jeans, just to be a brat. Dean hisses, shuffles away but wraps his arms around Sam’s skinny shoulders as if on instinct. Sam wrinkles his nose at the smell of alcohol and turns away from his brother so they’re pressed chest to back. Sam closes his eyes.

“Never said it. Only t’you,” Dean whispers into the back of his neck, breath brushing skin, and Sam freezes, shivers. “Love you, S’mmy.”

Dean starts snoring almost instantly.

It takes Sam longer to fall asleep and once he does he dreams of blonde girls in tight skirts who can blow bubblegum bubbles. The kind his brother would like.

In the morning, he’s alone in bed and he can hear Dean retching in the bathroom. He can’t find it in him to feel sorry.


End file.
